


Summer Heat

by mrvvrench



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Camping, Domestic, M/M, fluff n porn, general camping shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1800097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrvvrench/pseuds/mrvvrench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrench and Numbers decide to take a little time off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemonison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonison/gifts).



> Based off a little prompt given to me by [lemonison](http://lemonison.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.   
> It actually took a lot of time to write this, because I've been battling over whether I should venture into NSFW writing. 
> 
> But you know, what the hell, why not? 
> 
> As always, I enjoyed writing and I'll always be in denial cries deeply.

The sun is starting to set off in the distance, throwing red and orange light across the entire plains of the Midwest. Prairie grass sways in endless fields as they creep down the highway. Road signs litter the sides of the two lane pavement. Trees poke out here and there across the empty land. They’re not going to make it to a town with a motel; there’s only vast nothingness for miles and miles.

Wrench motions for his partner’s attention and points to an exit. “Campgrounds, next exit,” he signs. He motions further up the road, and Numbers nods. They’ll have to pitch a tent and camp tonight, but it’s warm and muggy and it’s the kind of weather that Numbers doesn’t mind so much. It’ll probably be difficult to sleep if the humidity doesn’t drop, but he’ll worry about that later.

As they exit the highway, they follow the signs towards the campgrounds Wrench had pointed out. It’s not long before trees start sprouting up, one by one, making a small woodland by a river. It’s an interruption in the prairie, but it’s a beautiful and much needed one. Like a tiny, welcomed oasis surrounded by the plainland desert. Numbers doesn’t know how much more grass and farmland he can really stand too look at. The Midwest was absolutely the most _boring_ place in America.

They pay the camp attendant a few bucks for their car permit and park in the gravel parking lot in front of a cabin. “Wanna stay in the car?” Numbers signs. He doesn’t have to, but Numbers will only be gone a minute to purchase a campsite.

“Why? Are you ashamed of me?” Wrench pokes fun with a smile on his face.

“Only always,” Numbers signs back with his own cheeky grin.

Despite the long, boring drive, the two are in good spirits. It was an undeniably pleasant day. They had just finished an easy case they were going to get paid a lot of money for (way more than they should, not that they were going to say anything), and everything had gone smoothly and according to plan. They were given the timeline of a few weeks to get it done, but it had only taken them one week, including the driving it took to get them halfway across America.

Numbers pats the door of the car before he heads into the cabin. He looks around for a moment, picking up a campground map. They’re somewhere outside of Valentine, Nebraska it looks like. All of Nebraska looks the same.

There are wilderness awareness pamphlets and conservation pamphlets and he leafs through them for a moment until an old woman approaches the counter. “Hello, there,” she calls, her voice soft and sweet. Numbers gives her a small smile as he walks up to the counter. “What can I do for ya, fella?” she gives him a big grin. Her eyes look ten times bigger behind her giant bifocal glasses.

“I just need a campsite for two,” he pulls out his wallet.

“Can do. RV or tent?”

“Tent.”

“Any children?”

Numbers almost thinks about saying yes, despite Wrench not even being present for the jab. With a half-smile he shakes his head. “No, two adults.”

“And for how long?”

_One night_ almost rolls off of Numbers’s tongue, but in a split decision he decides _the hell with it_. They were running ahead of schedule. Wrench would love to get out on the river, and Numbers would love a day off. “Three nights,” he tells her instead. Wrench is gonna kill him. But he’ll thank him later, Numbers is sure of it.

“And did you want a site near the lake, the river, or in the woods?”

“Which has the least amount of people booked?”

She gives him another warm smile, despite his initial feeling that she would look at him like he was a piece of trash that was in long need of being thrown away. “Most people book sites down by the lake or in the woods. I don’t think anyone’s set up by the river, right now.”

Numbers had seen it. It was deep in places, but it wasn’t a very fast moving river, so it kind of puzzled him as to why, but he didn’t ask. “Is there a good spot in between the river and the woods?”

“My, my, aren’t you full of questions!” she smiled and looked at her books. “Well, there’s one or two spots that fit that, I think… And both of them are open!” She points a finger at the map and looks up at him. “Would either of those interest you?”

Numbers studies them for a second, noting that there isn’t anyone in the camp sites anywhere near them for at least a quarter of a mile. It was perfect. “We’ll take the one in between,” he points his own finger to the second one she had shown him. He looks up with a genuine smile; he wondered why there couldn’t be more people like her in the world.

Outside, he places the map in his pocket and heads back over to Wrench. His partner is standing outside the car, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. “It got hot in there,” he signs, “you took the keys.”

“Yeah sorry it took so long. Lady was playing me like twenty questions.”

Wrench nods, getting back into the car. He welcomes the blast of cool air when Numbers turns the keys in the ignition.

“Wanna go run into town and get some supplies before we get to camp?” Numbers asks after be buckles the seat belt.

“Why? We’re only going to be here tonight,” Wrench points out.

“Actually,” Numbers signs hesitantly. “I booked us for three,” he adds sheepishly, looking away for a moment.

“What?!” Wrench’s hands move furiously. “We’ve got to get home; get the money.”

“Fuck the money!” Numbers replies, his hands moving as quickly and aggressively as Wrench’s. “Let’s just have fun for once. We’ve been working for months. We can enjoy the fucking _great outdoors_ and go swimming and you can go fishing. We’ll pick up gear in town.”

Wrench is about to argue but he stops his hands and thinks for a moment. He didn’t know his partner needed a holiday as bad as he did. For almost seven months, they’d been on what felt like one big, long case. The minute they got back into town, they’d get a night rest before being sent out on a new assignment. It was great for their wallets, but their moods weren’t exactly thanking them. Money couldn’t buy what they needed; a few moments of carefree relaxation.

They _were_ ahead of schedule and they _were_ allowed to enjoy life. And Wrench would _love_ to go fishing and watch Numbers whine about mosquito bites and do things that they normally didn’t have time to do. They _have_ time now, and if they didn’t jump on this chance, he knew they wouldn’t have time to do it later. Winter would already be riding their ass by then, more than likely. Their money was well saved and Numbers was looking so pathetic and hopeful and angry that Wrench couldn’t say no; he didn’t even want to say no anymore.

“Well you already paid her so I guess why not,” he signed, his shoulders relaxing.

“Awesome, let’s go get some shit then,” Numbers eyes light up, but he hides them quickly behind shades as he reverses the car out of the lot.

They ignore the small town curiosity as they buy everything they need, going down aisles and arguing over which brand of beer to buy and how much food to get. They know they look out of place and potentially alarming to these people who are used to seeing the same faces every day. They buy two coolers, a fishing pole for Wrench, a million cans of sunscreen and bug repellent, and more food than is probably necessary. Numbers buys the least hideous swim trunks he can find, while Wrench intentionally searches for the most repulsive. Numbers isn’t sure if it’s to spite him or not, but he knows he’ll look good in them either way. They already own a tent and sleeping gear, since camping is a thing they have to do on a relatively regular basis.

Now with their bounty, they’ve got everything they need and they head back to the campgrounds just as the sky turns purple.

They drive to their site and haul everything out, putting away things that needed to be cold in coolers they dump ice into. They’ll probably need to run into town again and get more, but it’s enough for at least tomorrow and most of the next day. They put the tent up together with much arguing about which poles go where, and when to lift and stake. It’s difficult because the fabric gets in their way of seeing each other, but eventually it’s done as the night starts to turn deep blue.

Numbers plops down on the ground in front of the tent, forgoing the setup for a moment. He’s tired from the day’s drive and the humidity and he just wants to take a minute to relax. Wrench stands beside him, surveying their work before he joins Numbers on the ground. He plucks a lantern from the stash of items and turns it on so he can see Numbers in the fading dusk.

They don’t speak to each other for a moment. Numbers bathes in the sound of the woods; birds chirping, squirrels rooting around in the ground, and insects humming and buzzing away. The water of a creek churns and bubbles not far from their campsite. The river slowly rushes on, water passing over stones and sand, following it’s ever wandering course to join another river. Everything is so loud, but at the same time so beautifully quiet. It’s peaceful. It’s true bliss to Numbers’s ears, despite his lack of affinity for the outdoors. It’s been a long time since Numbers has appreciated nature and the world and just sitting there and enjoying life for a minute. Heavy lids droop over his eyes and he closes them, content in just listening.

Wrench pokes him in the shoulder and Numbers furrows his brow for a moment before he opens his eyes. Wrench is looking up, his arm slightly extended. Numbers trails his eyes along it, up to Wrench’s hand that’s pointing in the air. He watches in confusion before a little light blinks on and then off.

_Fireflies._

Numbers gestures his hands in a question before admitting he doesn’t know the sign. Wrench shows him the sign and watches as Numbers repeats it a few times. He reaches his hand higher in the air and a little lightning bug lands on his finger. He watches it for a moment as it crawls around, its backside flickering in the dusk. Soon it spreads its wings to takes flight and Wrench watches it until it disappears into the dark of the night. It’s not long, however, before the whole woods begins to light up as fireflies take to the air and flash their little lights. They blink here and there for a while, before they begin to flash all together at once, before returning the woods to near darkness. The sight is whimsical and ethereal and they find themselves lost in it.

Numbers lays his head on Wrench’s shoulder. He feels an arm envelop around his body, as his partner pulls him a little closer. They stay like this, each in their own different kind of quiet. The sun finally disappears completely and it’s not long before the stars begin to twinkle in full force. Numbers always loved the way stars looked away from the city. He points out several constellations to Wrench, as he’s done many times before. Even though Wrench can name them off himself, he still acts like he’s forgotten and he loves when Numbers does it. Every single time.

Wrench stares at the sky for a moment longer, after Numbers’s hands had already dropped back to his side. He looks down at him and Numbers looks up at him and it’s a completely romantic moment that both men would gag at if they saw it happening to other people. But it’s not other people right now; it’s them.

Wrench leans down and presses his lips gently to his partner’s mouth. Warm hands slide their way up his chest as Numbers catches Wrench’s lips, nipping at them before opening his mouth. An arm slides across the smaller man’s body as Wrench presses into him, pushing his back down against the ground. His slides in between his partner’s legs, a fingers pulling up Numbers’s shirt a bit so a hand can slip under to rub against his skin. Numbers reaches up and drags a hand through the curly, copper mess of hair on Wrench’s head, his hips pressing upwards.

Wrench’s hand teases its way up to his partner’s collar bone, pressing his fingertips to the little alcove in his throat above his sternum. It’s one of his favorite places to touch; he can feel all the little noises and intakes of breath that Numbers makes. Vibrations thrum against his fingers as he drags his hips downwards against his partner’s body.

He repeats the motion, enjoying the near-divine pleasure from the friction and the way Numbers’s chest rises with the quick intake of breath. A hand tugs at his hair, a little more urgently. Wrench smiles against Numbers’s mouth, pulling away to trail little kisses along his jaw and throat.

For a moment he stays buried in his neck, breathing in the scent of cheap soap and sweat. He’s broken from the spell it places on him by the tickle of vibrations in his finger. He looks up to see the small hitman’s chest shaking furiously. Hands dislodges from Wrench’s hair before they’re brought into view.

“Don’t fucking tickle me you know I hate it.” Numbers arches his eyebrows down and tries to look intimidating and angry, but the blush on his face and grin pulling at his lips give him away. For a moment Wrench bathes in the look on his partner’s face, lit by the dull glow of the lantern and the near full moon in the sky above.

Then he realizes he’s _not_ tickling Numbers, when his partner’s chest begins to rise and fall quickly in laughter again. Wrench’s eyes widen a little and Numbers catches the look while he’s trying to catch his breath. Wrench holds both hands out where Numbers can see them.

That’s all it takes before Numbers is flailing out his space below his partner, heaving the bigger hitman off of him and jumping around like a moron. His shirt is over his head and slammed to the ground in a blur of motion. His lips move, streaming out a string of words Wrench can’t quite make out, but he’s sure they’re curses.

A roar of laughter bursts from the hitman’s throat, as his partner panics over something he’s sure isn’t _that_ big of deal. Numbers shoots him the most deadly of furious glares as Wrench rolls in laughter. He composes himself, snickering a little as he picks up the lantern and beams it at the ground. Tiny ants fumble around where they just were; their hill is not far off.

“Ants,” Wrench signs to Numbers and stands up with the lantern. “Come here and hold still so I can pick them out of your fur.”

“Fuck off!” Numbers signs and yell simultaneously. But he quickly rushes to the light source and holds still as Wrench inspects his body hair for rogue ants, finding only one or two.

“Let’s put everything away,” Wrench suggests, pointing to the items they neglected for much more _interesting_ activities. “Then we can eat. I’m fucking hungry,” he pats his stomach as Numbers airs out his shirt, flapping it up and down ten thousand times.

He finally puts it back on and Wrench notices he itches his skin nervously. He’d probably think he had ants on him for the next week. Wrench rolls his eyes and stoops to pick up half of the pile. He brings the items into the tent and drops them off to the side. Numbers nudges him with his foot and glowers at him. “More organized,” he signs.

Wrench mocks him behind his back, but starts to set things nicely in their places, hanging two of the lanterns in the hooks on both sides of the tent. Numbers is putting down blankets and sleeping bags. They’ll probably end up sleeping on top of them since it’s hot, but the extra padding will be nice.

“You go look for some firewood, I’ll build a pit,” Wrench tells Numbers. His partner is about to argue but realizes he should probably be the one whose goes into the dark woods alone. He doesn’t feel like they’ll be attacked here, but that doesn’t mean that coyotes and rogue raccoons weren’t things that still existed. The small hitman takes a flashlight and heads off, as Wrench starts to cleans out the fire pit.

When Numbers comes back, Wrench is cleaning off the grill rack. He drops all the wood he’s collected next to his partner. Quickly, Wrench builds up sticks and logs before setting fire to a bit of paper and dry leaves. Numbers watches him. Every time his partner does things like this, he’s impressed. Even if it’s not the first time he’s seen it done. For a moment he wonders who taught him how to build a fire.

They still don’t know much about each other’s past. It’s kind of an unspoken agreement that it doesn’t matter to them. They don’t dwell on it and they don’t feel the need to know. They are who they are. But sometimes Numbers gets a little curious and wonders if Wrench does too. He probably does. Maybe one day they’ll know everything. For now, Numbers is more than okay with just knowing that Wrench like pancakes more than waffles, hates carrots unless they’re cooked in a stew, doesn’t mind the cold, and gets really into daytime television. He knows that his favorite color is brown, he can fix anything wrong with a car, loves Halloween, giant dogs, and could get lost in a book for days. But most of all, he knows that Wrench would rather be anywhere with Numbers – no matter how shitty – than somewhere safe and comfortable. Their pasts became more and more irrelevant as their present and future intertwined more tightly day by day, until it knitted into one.

Besides, the only place Wrench truly felt safe and comfortable was beside his partner.

“Want to cook the burgers or fuck with the vegetables?” Wrench turns and asks him after he sets the grill rack over the small flame that’s gradually picking up power.

“I’ll do the vegetables,” Numbers replies and grabs the cooler, dragging it over to them. He hands Wrench the package of pre-patty formed meat. Numbers takes out the potatoes they bought and starts to cut them as Wrench plucks the cellophane from the package of meat. He throws it away in the designated trash bag they had set up. The last thing they wanted was raccoons or a littering fine.

Wrench sets the meat on the grill and looks over at Numbers. He holds out his hands and his partner doesn’t need to be told what he wants. He fishes the hand sanitizer out of their things and squeezes it into the hitman’s big hands. He rubs them together before grabbing the small grilling set they bought. He picks out the spatula and sets it in his lap, handing over the foil to Numbers. He watches as he finishes cutting potatoes and places them in the foil, covering them in a bit of oil. He wraps it and gives it to Wrench, who sets in on the grill next to the burgers. Numbers starts to cut a tomato. Wrench watches the skillful way he slices it, meticulous and careful with the knife. His partner was a perfectionist and Wrench has always somewhat admired that, while being simultaneously annoyed. It was just one of those things about his partner that drew him to the small hitman for reasons he was never able to quite put his finger on.  

Wrench flips the burgers and moves the foiled potatoes to where the fire is hottest on the rack.

When the food is finished, they dig in like a pack of wolves, washing it down with a cold beer. Their own cooking always tastes so amazing after days of eating nothing but road food. There’s nothing like a fresh, juicy burger that wasn’t from a fast food joint or shitty diner.

After dinner, they take everything down to the river. The water is cool and clean, and Numbers feels excitement to see Wrench relaxing on a boat, a fishing line dangling from his hands as he soaked up the sun. These little things were what he lived for. And to think he almost passed this up just so they could get sent out to another small town to destroy an already destroyed life.

They make s’mores over the fire, before Wrench ruins it by pelting the small hitman with marshmallows. “You’re going to attract possums, man,” Numbers sighs and stands up.

They collect what little of the marshmallows they can find in the firelight and throw them away. The two hitman stub out the fire before heading into the tent.

Inside, Numbers passes Wrench a beer. Large hands makes the sign for keys and pops the top of both their beers when Numbers hands them over. The beer is still cold from the cooler and it’s refreshing on a night like tonight. Wrench takes a long drink before setting the beer in his lap.

“This is really nice. I’m glad you did it.”

“I figured you would be,” Numbers gives him a small grin.

They watch each other for a minute. Numbers feels a little flustered. He feels like he should attempt to make conversation or something. They’re usually working or at home. There’s always something in between them that they focus on. Now they’re just focusing on themselves. He feels like a spotlight on him. Wrench feels absolutely comfortable and in his element. The hitman looks relaxed and at home here in the woods.

“So think you’ll survive the next three days?” Wrench asks him after taking another drink.

Numbers furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“Showers in the river, gutting fish, no mirror to check your hair,” Wrench smirks, throwing jibes at his partner left and right.

Numbers narrows his eyes. “I’ll be just fucking fine, asshole.”

“I don’t want to hear you bitching about any of those things later, then,” Wrench continues to tease.

“Well you won’t,” Numbers is straight up lying. He knows it. Wrench knows it. But his pride won’t allow him to back down. He’ll honestly try not to, but he knows in a day or two he’ll be whining for the comfort of a hot shower and a soft bed.

But it’s still worth it. Spending this time with Wrench is still worth every awful bug bite and every fish’s guts he gets on his hands. There wasn’t a lot in the world that wasn’t worth dealing with, if it meant Wrench was happy.

Wrench finishes his beer as Numbers gets halfway through his own. He props the empty bottle up in the corner of the tent by all the coolers of food they brought in to keep safe from scavenging animals. He stretches his legs out, smashing them alongside Numbers’s own legs. They take up a lot of room in the tent. Numbers wrinkles his nose.

“You’re going to bug the fuck out of me on purpose aren’t you?”

Wrench smiled sweetly. It looked odd on the giant, intimidating hitman. “Only for the next forever,” he signs.

Numbers watches his eyes and looks up at him, his face flushing a little. Maybe Wrench doesn’t think about the implication of that statement or what it does to Numbers’s heart; but maybe he really does. That’s probably why he said it to begin with.  His heart flutters in his chest as he thinks about the word _forever_. What did that really mean to them?

He downs his beer and tosses it gently over the where Wrench’s bottle is. Wrench’s brows knit together as he wipes off droplets of beer from his arm.

Wrench cracks open another two beers, passing one to Numbers. They talk about what they should do tomorrow when they should get up, and what they should have for breakfast.

Five beers later, Numbers is shoving Wrench’s foot away for what feels like the billionth time. He’s not drunk by any means, but his job required a massive level of sobriety, so five decent quality beers has his mind buzzing. “Will you stop it,” he whines vocally.

“My legs are long I can’t help it,” Wrench grins lazily.

“Yes you can, you’re just being a dick,” Numbers rolls his eyes.

“And? You know that’s what you like about me.”

“No, I don’t like anything about you,” Numbers signs sloppily. He doesn’t mean it and Wrench knows this.

“You like _everything_ about me,” Wrench’s grin widens as he pokes fun at his partner.

“Get away from me,” Numbers pushes the nudging foot away. “And why’d you let us drink all the beer in one night?”

“We’ll have to run out for ice again anyway, why not?”

“I guess,” Numbers slumps forward a little after a small shrug. He leans on his hand for a moment, his fingers of his free hand idly scratching at a bite or two.

“Come here,” Wrench beckons after watching him for several moments. The heat of the summer night and the warmth of the alcohol pumping through his bloodstream are making him hot all over, but not nearly as much as watching his partner relax and enjoy his company.

Numbers almost argues, but before his protests can roll of his tongue, he’s sliding himself into Wrench’s lap and pressing his lips eagerly against his partners’s, hands pulling at the tight t-shirt he’s wearing. He’s desperate to feel his skin against his own; share sweat and secrets and pleasure.

The sounds of the woods drop away as Numbers focuses on the one thing that matters. Hands slide against his body in all the right places and his own shirt is lost like Wrench’s, before either of them can process who helped in taking it off more. Fingernails dig into skin; teeth scrape softly across flesh. Neither hitmen forget the temperature of the summer night, but the heat between them is so much more.

It’s a quick fire that consumes all that is in a matter of minutes driving the two men scrambling to bring relief to each other.

Wrench slides his hand down Numbers’s chest, fingernails digging slowly into the skin and hair. His hand rubs across his hips, bringing it back to cups his ass as he presses his lap up slowly, seeking the friction of his partner. He stares up at him; watches his ridiculous eyelashes brush his flushed cheeks.

“Take your pants off,” Numbers signs down at him as he gets up from Wrench’s lap and begins to undo his belt. Wrench says nothing as he flicks open the button of his jeans, standing up and sliding them quickly off his hips and kicking out of them. He sheds his underwear, just as Numbers takes his own off. His cock is delectably hard as he fishes through his bag to get out some lube. Wrench can feel his own cock twitch as he watches that ass bend over. When the small hitman turns back to him, Wrench nearly tackles him to the ground. He drags him down with him and slides his body over his partner’s. Their dicks press against each other as teeth nip at Numbers’s throat; coarse beard hair tickles Wrench’s cheeks. A thumb traces itself across the full bottom lip of Numbers’s mouth for a moment before he holds out his hand for the lube. Numbers flicks open the cap and spreads the warm and thick liquid over his partner’s fingers. Wrench makes a hum in appreciation. Numbers wrinkles his nose but Wrench kisses between his eyebrows as one hand wraps around Numbers’s cock, the other gently pressing a finger into his hole.

The smaller man’s body quickly adjusts to the finger pushing in and out of him and Wrench adds a second, his mouth biting and kissing at his partner’s chest. He can feel the vibrations as Numbers lets out small noises that Wrench hopes sounds needy.

His lips wraps around Numbers’s cock as he slips a third finger into his partner’s tight hole. Hands slip into copper hair, yanking as Wrench swallows his cock down his throat. It twitches appreciatively in the tight heat, as a small groan bubbles out of his throat. The summer air and warmth from Wrench’s mouth cause small beads of sweat to prickle over his skin. Wrench releases him all too soon, but Numbers only scowls a little. He sits up and presses his hand on Wrench’s side as he spins them. Wrench smirks as his partner climbs on top of him, straddling his hips.

Numbers reaches back and grips Wrench’s cock in his hand, lining it up before he drops himself down slowly, inch by inch. His own cock leaks precum as he fills himself; it feels uncomfortable and wonderful and pleasurable all at once. He begins to rock his hips as Wrench slides one hand along his side. Numbers lifts himself up and slides back down as Wrench’s hips tilt up to meet him. Fingers drag along his chest until Wrench rests his palm flat on Numbers’s ribs. He doesn’t want to miss a single vibration from the desperate sounds his partner is prone to making when he takes his cock.

Wrench lets out a grunt as Numbers picks up his pace, sliding his ass over his cock faster. His eyes trail all over his partner’s body, taking in the delicious sight of flushed, sweating skin. His hand finds its way to Numbers’s dick, running a thumb underneath the head. Numbers lets out a shameful whine as he arches his back a little, trying to angle himself perfectly.

It takes a few moments of panting and readjustments from both men before finally Wrench’s dick hits Numbers’s prostate. “F-fuck,” Numbers moans out, pressing himself down before quickly dragging himself up. He bites at his lips and scrapes his nails into Wrench’s shoulders and chest as Wrench’s cock hits him perfectly. It sends hot spirals of heat up and down his spine as he repeats the motion; it won’t take long now to find release. Especially with Wrench rubbing his dick just the way he likes it best.

Numbers moves quickly now; Wrench greeting each pull with his own push. His partner rides him fast and he can’t help the loud grunts he’s making; Numbers knows just how to get him off. Hands squeeze into his partner’s chest and he pulls himself up. He slips his arms underneath Numbers’s and takes hold of his shoulders before pushing him down roughly onto his cock. Wrench can feel the vibrations of pleasurable moans Numbers makes against his chest, as he presses them together. Numbers loves it when Wrench gets aggressive. He bucks up into his partner, relishing the heat of his partner’s body. He licks and bites at his jaw as Numbers claws at his back. He tastes sweet and salty and perfect to Wrench and he bites down hard on his throat as he feels heat coil low in his belly. It’s hotter than the sun was this afternoon and burns through him as he fucks into his partner even harder. He feels his hand and stomach being splashed with cum, his partner’s ass clenching around his as he orgasms. Fingers pull roughly at his hair as Numbers’s body thrums with vibrations. Despite his tired, shaking legs, he continues to ride Wrench in earnest. It doesn’t take long before the man sucks in a breath, gritting his teeth around a loud groan as he spills inside his partner. A loud growl emits from his throat as he bites down on Numbers’s shoulder.

Wrench’s hands grip Numbers’s hips, stilling the gentle rocking that rode him out. Numbers tilts his partner’s face up, watching his hazy, beautiful eyes. He’s panting and his face is flushed and a lazy grin spreads across his lips as Numbers’s eyes appraise him.

He brings his hands up and signs, “I love when you ride me like that.”

Numbers rolls his eyes a little and pushes Wrench back against the pillows before rolling off of him. He’s got jizz splattered in his body hair and sweat rolls of his skin. The whole tent reeks of sex.

“I feel gross,” Numbers sings and Wrench lets out a snicker.

“See. You’re already complaining. Couldn’t even make it a few hours.”

“Shut up,” Numbers retaliates, exhausted from fucking his partner and the heat of summer.

“Wanna go skinny dipping?”

Numbers is about to protest, but decides _what the hell_. He signs a simple _yes_ , before Wrench is up. Where he gets the energy is beyond Numbers.

 

Numbers was able to sleep well that night, despite the heat and the itching of the bites and Wrench taking up nearly all the room and making him even hotter. He was exhausted and satisfied and the cold river had helped to cool his body enough to help him get to sleep.

In the morning, he wakes to the sound of birds screaming at the top of their lungs and the intense feeling that bugs were on him and feeling sore from rocks and sticks poking him all night. Perhaps three nights was a terrible idea. He should have just said two. But when he smells pancakes and bacon being cooked over a campfire and crawls out to see his partner beaming at him and waving him over, he can’t bring himself to regret his decision.

He looks so _ecstatic_ and it melts his heart.

The small hitman pulls on a pair of sweat pants and enjoys the cool air of the morning on his skin for the moment. He knows it’ll be blazing hot in a matter of hours. He combs his fingers through his hair, knowing it probably looked like a mess now. The waves are tangled and must be sticking out in all the wrong places. Wrench catches him and waggles his brows, everything he could say all in one look. Numbers scowls.

The breakfast quickly makes him forget his troubles. Between bites Wrench goes on excitedly about getting a boat and going out to the deeper parts of the river. Numbers replies with less enthusiasm but he’s just grateful that his partner is this overjoyed. He’s not really much of a fisherman himself, or fond of boats, but who will keep applying sunscreen to the man while he dozed lazily in the bright afternoon? They’re both prone to burns. Numbers burns fast, but it’s rarely ever awful. Wrench, on the other hand, burns slow and unnoticed until red patches pop up out of nowhere which quickly escalates to burns that bring nasty blisters. They’d learned their lesson while on a case in Florida a year or two ago.

Numbers pays for a boat rental at the nearby camp marina. Once out to a preferable spot, Wrench casts out his line and takes off his shirt. Numbers passes him sunscreen as he breaks out a book. Wrench applies the sunscreen to his face and shoulders and chest, keeping a close eye on the line.  

“Get my back,” he signs and tosses the sunscreen back to Numbers. His partner doesn’t argue, but rolls his eyes as he slathers the white, creamy lotion all over the larger hitman’s back. He rubs it in and then wipes his greasy hands on his jeans. He’d already applied some back at camp, plus he wasn’t going to sit in the sun without a t-shirt.

Wrench catches a few fish in the first hour, each time holding them up for Numbers to appraise. Which he does with fake enthusiasm. He does not care for fishing in the least, but he cares for Wrench deeply and seeing him get so excited about something so simple as a slightly bigger fish than the last catch made the slow, hot afternoon worth it.

As guessed, Wrench dozes off as the line goes dead sometime in the mid afternoon. Numbers reapplies the sun screen to his own face where he’s already starting to burn a little. He appraises his partner, sleeping away the day as the boat rocks gently in the waves. His skin glows beautifully in the summer sun; his chest rises and falls with deep breaths. His muscles look glorious and Numbers sighs. He rubs more sunscreen onto Wrench’s chest and face. He doesn’t even stir a little.

They eat sandwiches on the river and Wrench catches a few more fish before the sun starts to dip low in the sky. It’s humid and Numbers can’t wait to get back to the shade of their campsite. Finally Wrench seems to be pleased with the fish he caught.

“Ready to go back?” he asks as he appraises the size of each fish in the buckets.

“Yup, I’m ready for dinner,” Numbers signs as he watches Wrench let go some of the smaller fish back into the river. Numbers remembers the first time he sat out on a lake all day with Wrench, wondering why he’d caught so many fish and complaining about the sun. When Wrench had let more than half back into the lake, Numbers nearly had a conniption fit. He argued about why they spent all day on the lake if he was only going to keep a few of the fish he’d caught. Why hadn’t they just gone back after he caught three or four fish? Wrench had countered it was about the experience. Numbers was furious, thought he was going to have a stroke as the rowed back to land.

 

But every time after that he accompanied his partner fishing, despite thinking his reasoning was stupid.

Back at the campsite Numbers help Wrench gut, scale, and debone two of the fish like he’s shown him before. It’s messy, gross work that he doesn’t enjoy doing. At least it’s a practical skill and it did get them closer to dinner.

The smell of cooking trout fills their small campsite and Numbers stomach growls in anticipation. Fish was not his favorite food by far, but he was hungry. They eat dinner and lament over the lack of beer.

They decide to go into town to pick some up before turning in for the night. They only drink two a piece this time, showing a little more restraint.

Sleep comes swiftly for the two hitmen. They were exhausted from soaking up the hot rays of the sun while the humidity bathed them in a constant sticky and groggy feeling.

In the morning Numbers finds Wrench making breakfast as he had the morning before. Numbers was always a late sleeper, while Wrench was an early riser. If the sun was up he generally couldn’t sleep. Today was their last day before they had to pack up in the morning and hit the road.

They walk a trail together quietly. Numbers digs his camera out of their car beforehand and brings it with them. Wrench watches in amusement as Numbers stoops to take pictures of small flowers or odd, little acorns. Along part of the trail, they come across a deer not far off and Numbers is able to snap a few pictures before it takes off. He signs excitedly about how he thinks they’ll come out as they wander through the woods. Wrench catches him snap a photo or ten of him throughout the small adventure and he smiles to himself. It doesn’t matter how beautiful the nature photos turn out, Wrench already knows Numbers’s favorites will be the ones of his partner framed in the soft light filtering through the trees of the woods.

They play cards after a lunch of sandwiches and chips. Numbers sighs in furious frustration at how many times Wrench is able to beat him.

“You’re cheating somehow. I know it!” he glares and tosses his cards down on the pile.

“How the hell do you cheat at _Go Fish_?” Wrench snorts.

“I don’t know! You tell me!” Numbers accosts him.

They must look odd to the outside word. Two grown men arguing with their hands and facial expressions over a silly game of cards that kindergarteners learn how to play. But neither men stop to think about that. Even if they had, it wouldn’t have mattered. Their world was flawed and harsh and violent; full of passive aggressive behavior and constant arguments. It teetered on the edge at nearly all times Even so, they never failed to put it back right again. They held each other together; filled in the little holes that had existed for so long with love and devotion and need and desire that neither had known nor felt so deeply before each other.

Whether it was a stupid card game, arguing over TV shows, or trying to get out of driving for the day, every little and big fight only made them stronger and pushed them closer until they couldn’t possibly think that they could fall in any deeper.

But that was never the case.

“We’re playing a different game,” Numbers grumbles and signs at his partner before picking up the cards and shuffling them quickly.

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night,” Wrench teases, “I’ll still kick your ass.”

When Wrench thoroughly hands Numbers’s ass to him at every card game, the defeated hitman finally gives up.

“Let’s go swimming in the lake,” he signs and Wrench agrees instantly.

Just as Numbers had predicted, those ugly swim trunks flatter Wrench in ways that shouldn’t even be possible.

They make their way down to the sandy beach and there’s only a few people there. Wrench kicks off his shoes and Numbers follows suit. Within seconds of getting them off, he feels strong arms wrap around him and haul him off the ground.

“Woah! What the fuck asshole! Put me down!” he shouts at his deaf partner in vain. Families eye them warily as Wrench charges like a bull towards the water while Numbers flails in useless attempts to get free.

Before he can process it, he’s being tossed easily into the lake. He has just enough time to hold his breath as he sinks into the water. It’s cool and refreshing, but does nothing to cool the rage as he breaks the surface. Dark brown hair sticks to his face as he shakes his head like a shaggy dog.

“I will cut you into tiny little pieces and use your body to catch every single fish in this fucking lake!” Numbers shouts, signing only half his sentence. Water logs his hair down and Wrench laughs loudly before tackling him back down into the muddy water of the lake.

Dinner is a mash up of all the food they don’t want to take back home with them. They spend a quiet evening watching the fireflies and discussing what time to wake up tomorrow. The tent welcomes them as they get ready for bed.

“Congratulations, you actually didn’t bitch much these past few days,” Wrench signs slowly, watching his partner bathed in the light of the lantern. From inside the tent, Numbers can still hear the loud thrum of cicadas and chirping of crickets.

“It was a lot of fun,” Numbers replies, “usually I don’t have this much fun camping, but we both needed a vacation,” he shrugs.

“Thank you,” Wrench smiles at Numbers. After a moment he picks up his hands again and signs, “I love you.”

Numbers whole face glows red and he looks away for a moment. He tries not to smile, but can’t help himself as he signs back. “I love you too, you fucking loser.”

“You always have to ruin it,” Wrench shakes his head, grinning at his partner.

“Don’t be so fucking mushy, then” Numbers furrows his brow and kicks him with his foot.

“Fine. I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight.”

“That’s better.”

Their clothes come off fast. Their desire to feel each other’s bodies surge with each kiss. Wrench’s body hovers over Numbers’s as he leaves bite marks down his chest and stomach, his fingers scissoring his partner’s ass open. When he’s ready, Wrench flips the small hitman over and holds his hips up as he slides his cock inside of his partner. He reaches on hand around to place against his partner’s chest as he begins to thrust into him. He feels the moans he can’t hear, and he leans over a little as his pace picks up.

Numbers presses his ass back, rubbing against Wrench’s hips. He’s rewarded with the low growl and hiss from his partner. The hand stroking his cock reaches up to tangle fingers into the messy, dark hair, pulling his head back. The hitman thrusts deeper into his partner, feeling the desperate noises that come from his belly. His other hand drags along his back and finds its way to Numbers’s shoulder. Wrench pushes Numbers’s torso down onto the blanket, his hand still tightly fisted in his hair. With his tight ass in the air, the new position gives him the right angle to ram into Numbers’s prostate over and over.

Wrench can feel the vibrations of Numbers’s voice as he cries out, dick spilling onto the blankets. Wrench pulls his partner’s head to the side so he can watch his face as he continues to fuck into him. It looks absolutely satisfied and spent. Wrench smirks down at him; he’d barely even touched his dick and yet he’d come so hard. Numbers’s mouth parts open as he pants, watching his partner finish. He loves this kind of treatment. Fuck, does he love it.

Wrench presses his chest into Numbers’s back after he comes, breathing heavily and planting little kisses on his spine. Numbers can’t support the weight of his partner with his exhausted, shaking legs. Wrench lets out a noise as he smashes his partner into the blanket.

Numbers tries to get into a better angle under the massive weight of his partner. His brings his hands into view, but Wrench gathers them into one hand by the wrists. He buries his face into his partner’s back. The small hitman wiggles and eventually Wrench lets go of him, pulling out and rolling off. “River?”

He helps him off the floor of the tent and walks slowly beside him on their way down to the river.

When they get back to the tent, Wrench rushes to the opposite side of the blanket and lays down quickly. Numbers quirks his eyebrow, before he realizes.

“Fuck no!” he signs.

“It’s not my splooge,” Wrench finger spells the last worst, grinning like a twelve year old boy. It’s almost like he is sometimes.

Numbers plops down beside the large hitman and bundles the blanket up, losing the added layer of padding. Sometimes he wanted to smother Wrench with a pillow while he was sleeping. None the less, he found himself being spooned. Hot, sticky skin glued together from the humid air and somehow, Numbers eventually drifted off to sleep.

 

They pack up silently in the morning after a quick breakfast. Neither hitman wants to admit their slight disappointment of having to drive home and go back to their real life. This weekend was a little slice of retirement and what they couldn’t have just yet and it was cruel and phenomenal in every way.

They finish bringing their things to the car and once everything has found a place, they lean against the car for a quiet moment.

“You should drive,” Numbers signs.

“Fuck that. I’m tired,” Wrench signs back.

“I’m sore. After last night and sleeping on fucking rocks for the last three days – “

“Here it comes. I knew it was too perfect,” Wrench laughs easily as he jokes.

“I’ve got like fifty mosquito bites and my face burns and I smell like fish,” Numbers continues on.

“Get in the car,” Wrench demands with a snort.

“Not until you agree to drive.”

“Your snoring kept me up all night, I’m exhausted,” Wrench continued to tease.

“You can’t even hear!” Numbers signs furiously. He yanks the door of the driver’s side open and climbs in, unwilling to argue in the morning sun anymore. Wrench won this one, but he knew Numbers wasn’t going to let him bask in his victory for long.

For the next hundred miles, every time his partner falls asleep, Numbers jerks the wheel sharply to the right and drives over the rumble strip on the shoulder. The tires cause those awful vibrations that snaps Wrench awake immediately.

It’s the third and last time it’s happened; each time it got progressively longer in duration.

He can’t hear the loud roar of laughter his partner is making, but he knows he is. Fuck, does he know.

“I hate you,” Wrench signs, slugging his arm over his eyes before he gives up on the notion of sleeping finally. The large hitman sits up in the seat and glares at his partner.

“I’m fucking amazing,” Numbers signs back, driving with his knee for a minute.

“Yeah, sure you are.”

“Good, we finally agree on something.”

Wrench stays quiet for a moment after rolling his eyes. He only slightly forgives Numbers after a moment; it’s hard to stay mad after such a remarkable few days.

“When’s lunch?” he asks, turning his attention away from the window.

“You just ate!”

“Yeah like two hours ago.”

“No,” is all Numbers signs.

“Please?” Wrench begs, looking pathetic. He pats his stomach which vibrates under his hand in a growl as if Wrench had planned it.

“You are seriously the worst partner I’ve ever had and I’ve had more than a few.”

“I’m fucking amazing,” Wrench signs, mocking Numbers.

Numbers growls and jerks the wheel to the right and drives over the rumble strip for several feet until Wrench punches him in the arm. His hands move in a flurry of signs that Numbers doesn’t even bother to watch. Something about fucking up the tires.

“Alright, alright. Unbunch your panties. We’ll take the next exit, you big idiot.”

Wrench glares at him for a minute before his face softens and he signs a quick “thanks”.

“The things I do for love,” Numbers mutters as he watches for an exit with food on the road sign.


End file.
